


the shape of space

by multicorn



Category: Glee
Genre: Episode Related, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-27
Updated: 2013-03-27
Packaged: 2017-12-06 17:09:35
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,743
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/738081
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/multicorn/pseuds/multicorn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>(making some sense out of Kurt's headspace when Blaine visits him for Christmas in New York)</p><p>Because Blaine is there and Blaine will always be there, whirling around him like the starry sky, and Kurt lets his eyes trace the line of his coat and back away, and nothing in this strange city has ever felt so much like home.</p><p>He’s glad to see Blaine, always.  He just doesn’t want Blaine to see him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	the shape of space

**Author's Note:**

> thanks to soundingonlyatnightasyousleep for betaing!

He says we’ll talk on Christmas without thinking.  Because of course it’s what they need to do, it’s what Isabelle would tell him, it’s the next step.  He can’t move on without Blaine in his life and he knows that now, because he’s already tried it and failed.  So he’s going to be an adult instead.  He’s going to talk to Blaine the next time that he can, and together, they’re going to figure out what to do next.  
  
He says this without thinking, and it’s not until he’s lying in bed at night and trying to plan out the conversation that he realizes.  He can’t talk about it with Blaine anymore.  There is no safety left in Blaine’s simply being himself, and he doesn’t know what Blaine will say.  
  
And so the thought of the conversation grows, amorphous, looming in his mind, the shape dark and all-encompassing, a thing of choking fear.  There are too many possibilities, things that he could say, things that he could hear, and the branches of them turn into tentacles, and grow cold, and overwhelm him when he tries to fall asleep.  I’ll tell him this, he tries to start, or I’ll ask him, but he just seizes up in paralysis and dismay.  
  
He can’t think about it, so he doesn’t.  On the phone he and Blaine talk about other things instead; New York and McKinley and the songs they’re going to sing, TV and clothes and gossip.  It’s lighthearted and fun and Kurt is glad the telephone provides an excuse for skirting around any major issues, because just this sort of talking?  He could do this forever.  
  
Alone in bed, though, he has nightmares about Blaine telling him things, you were never what I wanted and I just couldn’t deal with you anymore, he has nightmares about Blaine’s face dissolving into alien goo or being clawed apart in bloody strips by invisible monsters, and he’s helpless to do anything, in his dreams after they finish the ice skating and drinking the hot chocolate he tries to talk to Blaine and nothing will come out and then he’s on stage and they’re supposed to sing a duet like they always do only he opens his mouth to sing and he’s choking and he’s dying, right there on the stage, and Blaine is saying you can’t die here, Kurt, no one’s died on stage before, can’t you just wait until I pull the curtains down.  
  
And so he lets the days tick by, and the airfare prices climb up, and he doesn’t book the ticket.  And when his Dad calls and says they won’t be in Lima for Christmas after all - it’s kind of a relief.  He misses his Dad, of course, they haven’t seen each other in ages, but the missing hasn’t been weighing as heavily on him as the other thing.  And now he doesn’t have to figure out how to have that conversation anymore.  He can heave a sigh of relief, guilt-free, it’s been canceled.  No one would expect him to go home to see just a friend, or an ex, after all.  
  
Think of it like that, and Blaine can’t protest when you call to tell him.  
  
Only Blaine does say, actually, because he doesn’t know that he shouldn’t, “I was really looking forward to seeing you at Christmas, you know.”  
  
Kurt lets out a little sigh.  “Sorry,” he says, “but I have to save my money for NYADA now that I’ve gotten in.  You know how it goes.”  
  
“Of course,” Blaine says.  “I was just really looking forward to it, that’s all.”  
  
“I’m sorry,” Kurt says again, because he can’t say I was too, because he for one is not going to lie.  
  
~*~  
  
And it can be good to be alone, at Christmas.  He really does want to see his Dad, but that’s just not possible this year, and as for everyone else -   
  
He has a city.  He’s still learning how to live in it.  
  
~*~  
  
He’s afraid, for just a moment when he hears the knocking at his door, that Blaine’s turned up out of the blue once again.  But it’s his Dad instead, and everything is wonderful until it isn’t again, because there can never be anything that’s too good in his life.  
  
But they’re good at pretending to normality, the both of them, and as he walks down the frozen city streets he wonders what his gift will be and doesn’t, doesn’t worry at all.  
  
~*~  
  
And when he’s at the ice rink, unwarned and unprepared, with Blaine standing right in front of him -  
  
Kurt is so glad to see him, after all.  
  
He didn’t think he could be.  He didn’t think there was anything else that could make him feel even a little bit good after the news he got tonight.  But Blaine is there, and maybe it’s a reflex, but he can’t help but feel a smile.  Can’t help relaxing into the song.  
  
On the ice they’re drawing shapes around each other.  Kurt is clumsy, maybe, but he’s close and unattached.  And on skates he can come so close to Blaine for a second and then slip on by, he can make Blaine follow him for a little and then let him take the lead.  He can play with the space that’s inevitably there, and it’s maybe the most peaceful thing he’s felt since coming here, no stakes but the smile in Blaine’s eyes that nothing yet has dimmed and a game between them.  He watches Blaine from the corner of his eyes, and keeps an ever-changing distance, and as they sing he feels like he’s flying.  
  
Because Blaine is there and Blaine will always be there, whirling around him like the starry sky, and Kurt lets his eyes trace the line of his coat and back away, and nothing in this strange city has ever felt so much like home.  
  
~*~  
  
But now Blaine’s here, in New York and not in Ohio, it’s this Christmas and not last year’s or the year’s before, and after they sing, Kurt knows, they have to talk.  Only somehow they don’t.  He stops Blaine a minute into their conversation with a hug, and then his Dad’s there again, and he serves, Kurt thinks so gratefully, as a buffer between them without even having to be asked.  
  
Kurt walks back to the apartment holding his Dad’s arm, and no one can possibly object to that placement of priorities, and not his ex-boyfriend’s; he abandons the two of them to, he says, catch up while he fixes some things with the dinner, and then watches them fondly from behind the couch.  Watching is easy.  
  
He’s glad to see Blaine, always.  He just doesn’t want Blaine to see him.  
  
He wishes there was observation glass to hide behind, like when you watch an animal in the zoo.  Because he doesn’t know how to be around Blaine, and Blaine just keeps looking at him, and he can’t be what Blaine wants and he doesn’t know the rules for this, so all he can do is just pretend that Blaine’s a person who is not Blaine and look.  
  
It’s not about forgiveness.  He forgave Blaine a long time ago, he thinks, although he doesn’t know when or how and that part makes him worry.  And it’s not about love.  He still loves Blaine, that part’s relatively easy, actually, even though everyone says it should be the hardest part.  But it’s a simple question, and a simple answer; he loves Blaine, of course he does, he’ll never stop loving Blaine if he’s honest about it, don’t be silly.  
  
He just doesn’t know what to do.  
  
~*~  
  
He immerses himself in the rhythm of chopping, uses the quick danger of the knife to focus himself away from the rest of the things that are lying wait in this apartment.  Chop, chop, chop, sweep and chop; stop for a second, and look across the space that you’ve put there.  They’re so engaged there on the couch with each other, it’s staying still.  Good job.  
  
Blaine’s doing well with his Dad, and his heart eases a little just to see their interplay, laughing as if at home.  And his Dad will be safe.  They’ve had enough trouble, more than their share, he thinks, with an effort of will - this time he will be safe.  And it’s not a bad thing if he feels like he wants to cry, anyway; there’s still a couple onions left that need chopping.  
  
~*~  
  
He finishes the vegetables, throws things in the fridge and the oven as need be, and comes to the couch to lose himself in reading Vogue instead.  He can watch Blaine now and then between one page and another, through his Dad’s protective bulk, out of the corner of his eye.  
  
He just wants to soak up Blaine’s presence, because he won’t get to see this boy for a while - maybe not till some sort of spring break, maybe not until summer.  And so he can’t let himself get attached again.  He just wants to look at Blaine, and store away the pictures in his heart, and they only have a couple days together and why should he have to spend it doing anything hard.  
  
He wants to enjoy this visit, that’s all, is it really so much to ask for.  
  
~*~  
  
He knows how to do friends.  
  
And he can do friends with a boy who makes his blood sing, everyone should know that he’s done it before, but he’s not so sure, now, that he can do friends with a boy who looks at him like he hung the moon and the stars and the sky.  Whose every look is asking for something that he almost wants to give -  
  
Who clearly wants so, so much more from him than being friends.  
  
With whom he can almost think it would be safe to let go.  
  
But he remembers the almost physical pain of this fall, sleepless nights followed by half-awake days, and he can’t.  It’s not about forgiveness.  It’s not about trust.  It’s an almost animal instinct to avoid pain, and he can make make himself walk into swords and fire if he knows there’s a reason for it.  But he doesn’t know why he should.  Love doesn’t work between them in the end, he can see that now, and he just doesn’t know what to do with the cut-off ends of this broken bond that still linger in his hands.  
  
~*~  
  
When the game they’re watching ends, they all get up; everyone needs to move, sooner or later, that’s the problem with making spaces for people is that sometime they’re going to move.  
  
Don’t ask me for anything, please, he thinks, and swerves around the edges of the apartment to stay out of everyone’s way.  Graceful lines, curves, space measured and cut out oh so carefully between him and Blaine - not too much distance to look over, anymore, but still too far away to touch.  
  
They eat dinner, eventually, and he looks at his Dad, lets Blaine look at him and flicks his eyes up from the fascination of his plate when he sees that Blaine’s head is turned.  Blaine’s too close, and he can feel the heat of his curiosity pressing ever closer.  But Blaine laughs at his Dad’s jokes, and makes not-very-cutting remarks in return.  Kurt plays off his Dad too, a strange triangle of conversation, but Blaine’s letting him get away with it this time, maybe.  
  
So he lets the warmth steaming off the food fill him up, smiles down at his plate, and tries to enjoy the time that they have.  
  
~*~  
  
After they finish the pie, it’s not so late, but Kurt’s Dad is tired.  Neither Kurt nor Blaine would even think of letting him take the couch, and he goes to sleep in Rachel’s bed with a simple goodnight.  
  
Kurt and Blaine, meanwhile, share the couch, and don’t cuddle, don’t touch.  They’re watching another Christmas movie and Kurt’s not sure which one it is.  He’s focusing on the edge of the screen.  
  
He hears Blaine clear his throat and say, “so.”  
  
“Hmm?” asks Kurt, and doesn’t look away from the black plastic television screen.  
  
“Listen, Kurt.”  
  
Kurt turns to him and says, “I’m listening.”  He’s looking at Blaine, technically, but not at his face - there’s a place on Blaine’s shoulder that stays fascinatingly still when he gets like this, though, and it’s close enough.  
  
Blaine forges ahead.  “On Thanksgiving you said, um.  You said that we’d have a talk, on Christmas, about us and our relationship.”  
  
“I changed my mind,” Kurt says, head held high and voice held higher.  
  
“About what, about us?  Because that’s okay - “  
  
“About having this talk,” Kurt whispers.  “I can’t do it.”  
  
“Why not?”  
  
Kurt sits there, looks sideways off at the edge of the TV again, and doesn’t move his hands, and doesn’t answer.  
  
“Did I do something wrong?  Because if I did I’m sorry, but I don’t know what it is.  So could you just tell me, please?”  Blaine touches his shoulder, gently, and Kurt startles back before he re-focuses and settles down again.  
  
“It’s not you,” Kurt shrugs, “I just can’t.”  He stands straight up from the couch, back held stiff and toes pointed away.  “Anyway, I’m going to bed now.  Do you need anything?”  
  
“I just need you to talk to me - “  
  
“Anything else.”  
  
Blaine sighs, defeated.  “No.”  
  
“Good night, then.”  
  
~*~  
  
He doesn’t sleep that poorly, all things considered.  Because that was a wreck of a conversation, maybe, but now he thinks that it’s over.  And Blaine’s still lying a few yards apart from him, on the couch, and it turns out that’s a really good distance after all.  Close enough to warm him, but not close enough to burn.  
  
~*~  
  
In the morning Kurt leaves his room to find his Dad still asleep in Rachel’s bed and Blaine sitting awake on the couch.  Blaine offers to help him cook breakfast - nothing else, just that, he says, and so Kurt accepts happily.  
  
They work together in the small kitchen space, and it’s easier now than last night.  Kurt can look up from whisking the egg whites and watch Blaine pick over the raspberries; he can smile at him openly, not hidden down at the table, and get only a smile in reply.  Blaine teases him about the elaborate food preparations, and Kurt tells him smugly that these will be the best waffles ever (and also won’t kill people), and he’s just lucky that he’s being allowed to help.  
  
“I am,” says Blaine honestly, and sometimes Kurt - still has to move away, because even when Blaine’s not waiting for anything anymore his very presence here is enticing.  But he spins away and starts to clear things off the counter top, the few steps between them a perfect balance of equilibrium where he doesn’t fall into the pull of Blaine’s closeness or float away.  
  
~*~  
  
Kurt says goodbye to Blaine under his Dad’s watchful eye; they would’ve been left alone, he’s sure, if he’d tried to cling a bit longer, but this way works well for him now.  
  
“It was good to see you,” he says, and gives Blaine a final loose hug.  Three seconds, and then he lifts up his arms and steps away, and Blaine does too.  Blaine doesn’t stop looking at him until they step out of the door and Kurt’s dad closes it behind them.  
  
Kurt breathes, and measures the space in his mind.  They’ve gone the few yards between him and the door, and now they’re going, foot by foot, down the hall; into the subway or a taxi, probably, and that will go mile by mile to the airplane that will take his Dad back to D.C. and Blaine to Ohio, hundreds of miles between them piling up in only a few hours.  He knows what the shape of it is; he’s looked at enough maps, forever and ever, though now he’s finally on the other side.  And he knows about the bonds that still hold.  
  
He calls Blaine that night, words bouncing up high, high through the atmosphere and back to earth again as they talk about gossip and fashion and what songs Blaine’s going to sing for NYADA, now, because this is a new year with new things in it.  And he puts the phone away, and dreams of the space between them, empty and crystal and bright.


End file.
